


Love Will Keep Us Alive

by theangelofletters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangelofletters/pseuds/theangelofletters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the course of his life, Sam didn't realize it, but he was falling for you. Now, with demons on your ass, claiming you for Hell, Sam has to decide if his love is enough to save you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Will Keep Us Alive

When Sam Winchester had first laid eyes on you, you’d been nothing but a kid. An awkward teenager who was all knees and elbows and braces. He’d been nearly 25 – a full ten years older than you – you were little more than Bobby’s kid niece who would come to South Dakota to spend a week every so often.  
  
Bobby tried to keep things as normal as possible around you – keeping the mention of angels and monsters and demons to a minimum. Sam hated it. You were an inconvenience, a distraction to whatever world-shattering thing was happening.  
  
Dean, being as great with kids as he was, loved the weeks you were at Bobby’s. He’d drive all night in hopes of taking you to see some stupid animated movie or give you some talk to help you avoid womanizers like him. He told Sam more than once that he liked having a little sister feeling.  
  
Sam would groan a little, but he’d tag along and always end up impressed with how intelligent or funny or knowledgeable you were and how old you acted for your age.  
  
It wasn’t until your parents died that Sam truly got to know you. Having just turned seventeen with no other family, Bobby Singer was the logical choice. The boys helped move you in, standing in the background as Bobby explained to you what he and the boys were – what they really did.  
  
It took you a few days (and a lot of tissues) to come to terms with the apocalypse and the supernatural (and the Ghost-busting, as you called it), but eventually you did, helping Bobby with some of the research.  
  
With you around all the time, Sam began to truly notice you. You were no longer the awkward kid with braces and acne – you were starting to develop the attitude and curves of a woman, and a bad ass woman at that. But at 27, Sam just kept his mouth shut and glared at any teenage boy stupid enough to look at you while he and Dean were around.  
  
And when you finally became legal… that was the worst of it for Sam. You were beautiful… he was soulless… but luckily Bobby kept him busy with cases (and away from you), so his soulless self couldn’t take advantage of your youth and beauty.  
  
When he’d finally gotten his soul back, he began to notice himself looking forward to the odd weekend away from the job, from mentions of Eve and Purgatory, when he and Dean would spend time with you. Sometimes he’d even steal a car, driving like hell toward South Dakota while Dean spent time with Lisa and Ben.  
  
Sam would take you for ice cream and to whatever movie you were dying to see. Most of the time it was some chick-flick or horror movie that Bobby wouldn’t indulge you with, that Sam was happy to see. He’d smile when you started sniffling through the end of the romances, cheeks flaming in embarrassment. He’d reach over to your lap and gently grab your hand, letting you squeeze it until the tears stopped. And it would take all of self control to not laugh whenever you buried your head in his shoulder during the scary movies.  
  
And then one weekend, Bobby headed out to New Hampshire with Dean, leaving you in Sam’s capable hands. The two of you cooked dinner together; laughing when Sam accidentally overcooked the chicken and spilled dressing all over your shirt. He’d ordered pizza and you’d went to change into a fresh shirt, coming out as the pizza man came to the door.  
  
He’d noticed the look on the pizza guy’s face first, one of awe and lust. He’d turned quickly, seeing you in just his teeshirt and some socks – the object of the pizza man’s attention. It had taken everything Sam had in him to let the pizza guy go with just a glare.  
  
It was then that Sam realized his affections went beyond brotherly.  
  
And he was fully prepared to tell you… soon-ish. He’d debating asking Dean for help, but Sam knew that would be a disaster.  
  
As the months went on, Sam’s affections grew deeper. He’d notice it as you made coffee, or read a book on whatever monster of the month. He’d notice your beauty, your intelligence, every word and smile making him fall deeper and deeper in love.  
  
Just as he’d been prepared to tell you, to confront you and tell you that he was in love with a woman ten years his junior, the worst thing had happened.  
  
Bobby had been murdered.  
  
Sam had held you close while Dean salted and burned the bones of the best father figure the three of you had. The only family Sam had left in the world was you and Dean. He didn’t intend to lose either of you.   
  
-  
  
Less than a year after Bobby’s death (and being oh, so close to finding a way to shove Dick back in Purgatory), Dean came running into the motel room, shouting into the phone.  
  
"You kill any son of a bitch that gets near her, Roy. Let me talk to her," Dean growled, ending the call and throwing his things into his bag. Sam could hear Dean’s voice soften - he assumed you were on the line. "Go in your bedroom and line it with salt, get the pistol under the floorboard and load it like Sam showed you. If anyone comes in your room, say ‘Christo.’ … If they’re demon, they’ll flinch. We’ll be there by daylight, okay, ____?"  
  
"What’s going on?" Sam asked, copying his brother’s movements and packing his own bag - it must be serious if Dean was preparing to leave mid-job.  
  
”____. Roy got a line on some demons that are after her,” Dean growled, loading a clip into his handgun and looking at Sam.   
  
"Demons?" Sam sputtered. "I thought Crowley told them to lay off so we could send Dick back to Purgatory!"   
  
Dean narrowed his eyes, “Apparently these couple are going off the beaten path. Roy heard they’re after her to get to us.”  
  
Sam started to pack faster, “Where’s Roy now?”  
  
"He’s with her in that apartment in South Dakota, but we gotta hide her, Sammy. Deep underground."  
  
Sam could feel his rage boiling beneath the surface - “What about Crowley?”  
  
"You think that dirty son of a bitch is going to call them off?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"He will if he wants our help with the Leviathan."  
  
Dan nodded. “Alright, I’ll call him, see if we can figure out who’s on ____’s trail.”  
  
"If any of them touch her," Sam snarled, "I’m going to rip their hearts out."  
  
Dean gave a grim smile, “Exactly, little brother.”  
  
Luckily, Sam and Dean were only in North Dakota, near the Canadian border. As Dean had predicted, the Impala rumbled into your driveway just before daylight. Sam tore out of the car, leaving Dean to deal with Roy and thank him for keeping an eye on you.  
  
He ran up the stairs, nearly tripping over the last step in a hurry to get to your room. He almost bust it open before remembering that Dean had instructed you to shoot first, ask questions later. So he knocked.  
  
”_____, you there?”  
  
Sam could hear someone shifting on the other side of the door - he readied a bottle of holy water, just in case. The door inched open, revealing part of your face and the firing end of the pistol Sam had hidden for you and shown you how to use.  
  
"Christo," you whispered. When Sam didn’t flinch, you reached into your belt, holding a silver knife and offering it to him.  
  
Sam had to smile - maybe you had learned something from the brothers over the years. He complied, slicing the silver across his forearm and proving he wasn’t a shifter.  
  
The door flew open, the pistol all but forgotten as you crushed yourself to Sam’s arms. He held you tightly, one hand cradling your head as you started to sob into his chest. Sam shushed you, murmuring choruses of ‘it’s okay’s and ‘you’re safe now’s. By the time you’d stopped crying, Dean and Roy were at the top of the stairs, watching the two of you in the hallway.  
  
You sniffled at the extra footsteps, giving a weak smile to Roy and Dean.  
  
”_____,” Dean simply said, nodding. “We have a safe place we can take you.”  
  
You just nodded.  
  
"Sammy’ll take you up there tonight in another car and Roy and I will pack your things in the Impala and bring them," Dean explained. "So pack a bag that’ll last a couple of days, just in case."  
  
You numbly nodded, pulling yourself from Sam’s grasp and back into your room. Dean nodded his head toward the living room in the center of the apartment, Roy and Sam followed.  
  
"Where’s the safehouse?"  
  
Dean sighed, “Rufus’s, for now.”  
  
"How much does she know?" Sam asked Roy.  
  
Roy looked at his feet, “One had a gun at her head when I got here. Exorcised the son of a bitch, but it rattled her pretty bad.”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to say something else, but he was interrupted by you clearing your throat. “Should we go now?”  
-  
The cabin in Montana was simple, to say the least. It had a working shower, toilet, lights, and television - not too much you could complain about. Sam had drove the entire way, letting you nap in his lap as Roy’s ~~stolen~~ borrowed Ford F-250 rumbled down the highways.   
  
Darkness was starting to fall when Sam carried your duffle over one shoulder into one of the bedrooms. He found some clean sheets in one of the drawers, helping you make the bed before walking to the living room.  
  
True to form, Sam completely demon and angel-proofed the place, placing sigils and devil’s traps in every room, salt on every window and door, hex bags in every corner, holy water containers on every flat surface. He briefly noticed you entering the room, but he didn’t comment, finishing his work and hiding you thoroughly.  
  
"These hex bags should keep you okay," he muttered, putting the last one on the coffee table. He checked his watch - Dean wouldn’t be back until the next morning.  
  
He turned back to you, mouth dropping as he saw your hair in a large braid, hair still falling in your face. You wore one of his old Stanford sweatshirts (a comfortable one he’d outgrown long ago), tears falling on the fabric from red-rimmed and swollen eyes. It took Sam a moment to remember how to speak - thoughts of you in his clothes jumbled any hope of functioning.  
  
Until tears started to fall again.  
  
"Hey, hey," he soothed, sinking next to you on the couch. "What’s wrong?"  
  
"I-It’s so silly," you forced a laugh.  
  
Sam frowned, “It’s not silly if it’s got you this upset, _____.” You sighed - Sam gently touched your hand, “____, it’s okay to be upset. Demons are after you - that would make most people break down.”  
  
You offered him a weak smile.  
  
"I can’t fix it unless you tell me what’s wrong," Sam whispered.  
  
"I’m afraid," you whispered back, as if afraid there were demons in the room.  
  
Your eyes threatened to spill over again, so Sam gently scooted himself closer, pulling you into his arms. You collapsed into them for the second time in twenty four hours, fisting your hands into his shirt. You sobbed, tears flowing freely on the fabric of his flannel.  
  
Sam said nothing, opting to hold you tighter and kissing the top of your head. “You’re okay, ____. Nothing bad is going to happen to you while I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m not going to leave you.”  
  
You cried yourself out a few hours later, falling asleep against Sam’s chest on the couch. He looked down at you, a smile pulling at his mouth. While he knew that you’d protest, saying that it was just a messy braid and old sweatshirt, Sam couldn’t find you more beautiful. You looked so peaceful in sleep, so at ease in his arms.   
  
_I wouldn’t mind waking up to this,_ Sam thought to himself, eyes widening at his inner thoughts. You were ten years younger than him - besides that, you probably looked at him in the same light as Dean, like an older brother. It was just a coincidence that you only ever wore his clothes instead of Dean’s, or shared a bed with him instead of Dean…  
  
Sam groaned, desperately wishing he could stretch his back out against the old couch and hold you against him all night. He finally gave up, manuvering his hands under your body, pulling you to his chest, bridal style. He tried jostling you as little as possible, holding you to his chest as he carried you into the bedroom.  
  
You didn’t stir, except for the slight mumbling from a dream. Sam eased you from his arms into the most comfortable bed in the cabin, easing the blankets over your small body. He reached down, giving your forehead a feather-light kiss before turning to walk out of the room, wondering where the spare sheets were so he could drape them over the couch.  
  
Before he reached the doorframe, he heard you stir in the bed. He turned to see you sitting up, clutching at his old sweatshirt. Your half-asleep voice called out to him, “Sam?”  
  
He gave you a smile, “Yeah, _____?”  
  
"C-Can you, um, stay with me? You know… just for tonight?"  
  
Sam nodded, his heart fluttering as he cut off the light and walked toward the bed. He shucked off his boots, pulling back the blankets and sheets.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
Sam looked around the room, “Uhhh… Getting in bed? Like you asked me to?”  
  
You yawned, “Sam. You were in those clothes all day.”  
  
Sam had to smile again, pushing his long hair out of his face. Demons from the depths of Hell were on your ass, chasing you underground for God knows how long, and you were worried about what he was wearing to bed. He did as you asked, taking off his plaid shirt and jeans, leaving him in boxers and a white v-neck. He held his arms out to the side, searching for your approval. He could feel his face get hot as your half-asleep eyes lingered on various parts of his body for what was probably longer than necessary.   
  
After what felt like hours, you pulled back the blankets, patting the mattress beside you. Sam eagerly (almost too eagerly) leaped into the bed, pulling the blankets up as he relaxed into the mattress.  
  
This wasn’t the first time Sam had ever shared a bed with you. But Sam had always dreaded it. Borne out of necessity (more than once) while growing up, your bony knees and elbows never failed in finding the most sensitive part of his back.  
  
And when you got older and Sam started to have feelings for you… Well, that was worse than the knees in his back. He’d become hyper-aware of every breath you took, every sound you made in your sleep, every… everything. So he’d gotten good at turning so his back faced you and faking sleep.  
  
As your breathing started to deepen, Sam figured that night would be no different.   
  
…until you curled into his left arm.  
  
Sam could feel his body go rigid without his permission. Your head rested on his shoulder, your arms curled around his bicep and forearm - pure agony.  
  
Sam desperately tried to control his breathing and the hammering of his heart so he could at least attempt sleep with you so close, but it was no use. It was like he was fifteen again and the homecoming queen winked at him in the hallway.  
  
Your breathing fell evenly, signaling sleep. Sam gave up - an all-nighter was probably the safer option anyway, it would make him more alert to any threats that might have followed you to the cabin. He put his right hand behind his head, trying desperately to ignore the fact that one of your hands was inching down his forearm and toward his palm.  
  
So he began to think. You couldn’t hide here forever, some demon was bound to figure out that he and Dean had put you up with hunters of some kind. Then it was only a matter of time until the searched Rufus Turner’s cabin.   
  
He considered getting you a new identity from Bobby’s friend, Frank. New ID, new place, new life, new everything… Sam could probably keep you safe that way - he doubted the demons really knew what you looked like.  
  
Of course, that would mean never seeing you again, Sam considered. But he knew that if it meant keeping you safe and away from the life, he’d do it. Maybe you’d actually live an apple pie life with a big house and a good job and… a husband.  
  
Thinking of you with someone other than him left a bad taste in his mouth. He couldn’t even imagine -  
  
Sam was so caught up in his plans that he almost missed it.  
  
It was so quiet, so desperate, that Sam wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t heard it. But in your sleep, you called his name.  
  
His eyes flickered to you, heart stopping his chest. You trembled, whatever happening in your dream enough to terrify you. Sam had never seen you act like this. So he reached down, gently shaking your shoulders until your sleepy eyes flickered open.  
  
"Wha-?"  
  
"Shhh," Sam soothed. "You had a bad dream. Want to talk about it?"  
  
You bit your lip, jumbling Sam’s thoughts for a few seconds before you sighed. “They had you. They - they were looking for me and I - I could see what they were…”  
  
Tears threatened to spill over again, so Sam untangled his arm from your grasp, wrapping it around your shoulders. You snuggled yourself into his chest, letting Sam’s arms surround you. He held you tightly, running one hand through your hair, the other wiping tears away from your face.  
  
"It’s going to be okay," he promised, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "Nothing’s going to hurt me. And I swear nothing is going to happen to you, okay?"  
  
You nodded, looking up at him. “Okay.”  
  
-  
  
Sam wasn’t surprised that he fell asleep.   
  
He’d been so comfortable with you on his chest, as if you were made to lay there for the rest of your life. He’d somehow managed to slip out of bed without waking you, starting a pot of coffee and calling Dean before 8 am.  
  
Dean picked up on the first ring, “Heya Sammy.”  
  
"Everything going okay?"  
  
"Yep," Dean answered. "Leaving in a little bit. Roy’s taking half her stuff toward freakin’ Kentucky and I’m bringing what I can in the Impala."  
  
Sam pursed his lips, knowing his brother couldn’t see him. The coffee maker dinged, so he got up from the table and poured himself a mug, knowing he’d probably need more than one before the day was over.  
  
"How’d she do last night?"  
  
Sam sighed, “You mean after she stopped crying?”  
  
"Could’ve figured for that," Dean chuckled. "She handled it alot better than some of the other people we’ve met."  
  
Sam took a drink, that was true. At least you didn’t have a complete mental breakdown or refuse the evidence. For the most part, you’d handled it well. “She’s still upset though.”  
  
"You blame her? She loses her parents, Bobby… now this?"  
  
"So Roy told you these demons are after us?" Sam asked. “Even after Crowley’s order to leave us alone?”  
  
He could hear Dean grunting out some kind of answer to who he assumed was Roy. “I got no idea, Sammy. I do plan on summoning that son of a bitch and figuring out what the hell’s going on.”  
  
"Sounds like a good plan," Sam murmured. He opened his mouth to say something else, but his head picked up at the sound of a door opening. His mouth fell open a little more at the sight of you emerging from the bedroom.  
  
You were still wearing Sam’s sweatshirt from the night before, but the shorts you’d put on were shorter than the sweatshirt, giving Sam the illusion that you weren’t wearing anything underneath. Your braid was all messed up from sleep, looking an awful lot like morning-after sex hair.  
  
Sam’s breath caught as you gave him a smile. You looked as if he’d just spent all night fucking your brains out and cuddling till you both passed out.  
  
He could hear Dean’s voice through the end of the phone, but it sounded so far away, and it didn’t really matter anyway. “Sam? Sammy? you there?”  
  
"Is that Dean?" you asked.  
  
Suddenly, Sam remembered how to breathe. “Uh, ummm, yeah, it’s Dean.”  
  
You smiled, “Can I talk to him?”  
  
Sam nodded, handing you the phone and watching as you talked to Dean and poured yourself a glass of water from the fridge. He was mesmerized, completely enamored by the way you walked, the way you moved, even that cute sleepy smile that graced your face.  
  
Sam rubbed his eyes - he should not be thinking about you like this. That was something that Dean would do, not him. He was so much older, so unappealing. What did Sam even have to offer you? A life chasing and waiting for a hunter who didn’t know if he’d ever come home?  
  
You placed the cellphone on the table, offering Sam a smile. “Dean said they’d be here sometime today.”  
  
Sam just nodded, trying to collect his thoughts.   
  
You sighed, “I’ll feel better when we’re all in one place. I don’t like my family being spread out.”  
  
"Dean’ll be fine," Sam assured you, putting his hands on the table. "He always is."  
  
You chuckled, reaching for Sam’s hand and squeezing it, “I’ll just feel better.”  
  
Sam looked down at your hand holding his, forgetting how to breathe for a moment. He could feel something sparking from your skin to his and the only word he could find to describe it was _electric._ His eyes trailed up your hand, your arm, your neck, settling on your sparkling eyes, already locked on his.  
  
He wanted to say something - anything that would convey how he felt about you… But his mouth was drier than the Sahara, his brain had been turned to mush… all he could do was look at you.   
  
You opened your mouth to say something, but the words died on your tongue as someone knocked at the door. Your head cut around, squeezing Sam’s hand in fear.   
  
As if by magic (or adrenaline), Sam’s brain started to work again. He let go of your hand, reaching in the back of his belt for the demon-killing knife. His eyes flickered to yours as someone banged on the door again.  
  
“Dean said he won’t be back for a while,” you whispered, fear echoing in every syllable.   
  
Sam grabbed the flask of holy water from the table and put it in your hands, “Go to the bedroom and lock the door. Put that dresser in front of it and put the rug with the Devil’s Trap in front of the door. Hide under the bed and spray anyone who enters - even me. Understand?”  
  
You whimpered, nodding as you took the flask. Sam’s heart broke at the fear in your eyes. Hunting wasn’t your bid at all, you’d never had aspirations of being one, but now he was asking you to go into a room by yourself and fight any demon that entered.  
  
Sam pulled you close, hugging you to his chest. He kissed your forehead and leaned into your ear, “If it’s clear, I’ll call your middle name, okay?”  
  
You nodded, taking off toward the bedroom whenever Sam let you go.  
  
Sam waited until he could hear the dresser moving before he walked toward the door. The banging was louder now, but seemed to stop whenever Sam started walking toward the door.  He readied the knife in his right hand and the holy water in his left as he gently opened the door.  
  
Sam was met with a smile from an overweight, balding man. “Well, if it ain’t the great Sam Winchester!” he greeted, flashing his eyes black.  
  
Sam lunged with the knife, knicking the man on the neck. He howled, eyes flashing back normal as he ran forward to tackle Sam. The two went headlong into the couch, tipping it backward with a loud crash. Sam wrestled, grunting as another demon entered the room. It was a woman that reminded him alot of Meg, but with red hair. She smiled, her eyes flashing black. She knocked over a vase on one of the tables, chuckling.  
  
“Oh Sammy, I love what you’ve done with the place.”  
  
Sam grunted again, trying hard to push the blade into the skull of the demon on top of him.  
  
The woman rolled her eyes, picking up a lamp from another table. She walked to where Sam was struggling with the male demon, swiftly and efficiently breaking the lamp over his head, sending him swimming into darkness.  
  
-  
  
“Sam! Sam please wake up,” a hushed whisper met his ears. “Sam, please.”  
  
Sam’s head ached. He was sitting up and he could feel ropes around his ankles, binding them to some kind of chair. His wrists were painfully held together behind his back and his head drooped on his chest. He could hear the whisper again, frantic and panicked.   
  
He opened his eyes to see a dimly lit barn. It had a few tools spread out, a John Deere in the corner if Sam’s guess was correct. Directly across from him, sat you, tied together much like he was. He groaned as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and sought out each feature of your face.  
  
Blood trickled from above your left eyebrow, even more from your nose and mouth. Both eyes were blackened and Sam thought he could see bruising on your right cheekbone. Rage boiled white hot inside him that he had allowed for this to happen.  
  
“Sam?” you whispered. “Are you alive?”  
  
Sam grunted, “I’m okay. What the hell happened?”  
  
“One came in through my window,” you whispered. “I tried to spray holy water but it-it didn’t stop him. He made me change into some warmer clothes and my jacket. By the time he got me in the living room, you were out cold.”  
  
Sam nodded - that explained why you were in a plaid shirt instead of his Stanford sweatshirt. He groaned, trying to stretch against his bonds. He and Dean had had enough practice that he was fairly sure he could ease out of them, but he had no weapon to defend the two of you with. He couldn’t believe he’d let this happen.  
  
“What did they say to you?”  
  
you locked eyes with him, “They were looking for Cas.Thought we’d know where to find him.”  
  
Sam groaned again, none of them knew where Castiel had disappeared to since the Leviathans were let loose. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack… If he was even alive.  
  
“What do we do?” you whispered.  
  
Sam struggled against the bonds again, “We try to get free. We try to get out of here. We find Dean.”  
  
You nodded, following his lead and trying to wiggle out of the ropes. It seemed to go on forever, but Sam finally managed to get one wrist out of the rope before sighing and looking across the room. Your head picked up at his sigh, your bruised and swollen eyes locking with his.  
  
“What, Sam?”  
  
Sam sighed, “I-I’m so sorry, _____. This is my fault.”  
  
You shook your head, “No, Sam. It’s the demons. This is their fault. Not yours.”   
  
You paused for a minute, a faint smile pulling at your lips as you stared across the barn at Sam. He started to smile back, keeping his eyes locked on yours even as the barn door opened. When a chuckle floated to his ears, Sam’s gaze broke away from yours, unsurprised to see the demons that had kidnapped them.  
  
The woman laughed, twirling the demon blade in her hands. She walked into the room, swaying her hips and humming to some tune Sam didn’t recognize. She stopped short of Sam, running her fingertips along his face. Sam retched back, turning his glare on her.  
  
“Oh, Sammy. You don’t want to play?”  
  
“Don’t call him that,” you growled, teeth bared as you stared down the redhead.  
  
She smiled, “Or what?” she turned away from Sam, walking across the bar to you. “____ Singer,” she tsked. “It’s so unfortunate that you’re here. We really just wanted the Winchesters… but I guess you’ll do in Dean’s place.”  
  
“Why?” Sam spit. “We have a deal with Crowley - kill the Leviathan and he’d order the demons off us.”  
  
The demon woman pursed her lips, running her hands across your collarbone. Sam’s chest constricted as he watches her fingertips trace your skin, the blade trailing after, the pressure just enough to remind you that it was there.  
  
“Well, if Crowley did make such an order, he didn’t tell me,” the demon smirked. “The only orders I have are for Sam and Dean Winchester to be brought to Crowley… alive.” She leaned in close to your ear, her red lips barely touching the shell of your ear, “But for Miss _____ here… I have no orders for her, so maybe she and I can have some… fun? Would you like that?”  
  
The demon backed off of you, smiling in anticipation of your reaction. Sam could feel his pride swell when you turned your glare to the demon, hauling back and spitting in her face. “Bite me, bitch.”  
  
With one quick movement, the demon woman reached out and slapped your face, so hard that your hair fell in your face as you looked in your lap. Sam’s rage built up again, his free right hand struggling to remove the bonds on his left.  
  
“You little slut,” the demon growled, baring the knife. “I will not let a Winchester whore disrespect me.”  
  
You smiled, looking up at the redhead through swollen and bruised eyes. “Looks like you just did.”  
  
Sam snorted, locking eyes with you and giving you a sure smile.   
  
“Is that so?” the woman snarled.  
  
Sam saw it for a second before it happened. Everything seemed to be in slow motion as the redhead raised her fist, plunging it hard on top of your left wrist. Sam could hear the pop that signaled broken bone. You cried out, screaming as pain shot through your limbs.  
  
“_____!” Sam yelled, reaching harder against the ropes.  
  
Your head lulled back, breathing hard and giving another yelp as the demon took a step back, chuckling. Sam yelled your name again. “_____, baby! Look at me!”  
  
You barely recognized Sam’s voice, whimpering as your swollen eyes lifted up to find him across the room. “Keep looking at me, ____! Keep your eyes on me! It’ll be okay, I promise!”  
  
The demon laughed, “He can’t promise you anything, you Winchester whore.” She brought the knife down, slicing against the exposed portion of your collarbone.  
Sam wrestled against his ropes, feeling the burns cut into his skin. But it didn’t matter, he didn’t care. He had to get to you, he had to save you, he had to…  
  
You cried out again, doing your best to follow Sam’s instructions to keep your eyes on him. You didn’t beg, you didn’t plead, you just took your punishment.  
  
Sam, on the other hand, was begging. “Please! Stop! I’m the one you want! Take me instead!”  
  
The demon stopped slicing your skin suddenly, turning to Sam. “What did you say?”  
  
“I’m the one you want,” Sam breathed, baring his chest.

Blood fell from your lips. "Sam - _please stop_ ," you mumbled.

Sam could feel tears burn hot behind his eyes, “Just - just stop _hurting_ her.”  
  
“Why?” The demon snarled, taking a few steps toward Sam.  
  
Sam found your eyes again, “Just please stop,” he whispered.  
  
The demon cackled, “Is this… is this love, Sam Winchester?”  
  
Sam tore his eyes away from yours to glare at the demon again. She was so taunting, making light of how Sam felt. Love… the word had been on the tip of Sam’s tongue for so many months, but he hadn’t dare voiced it. Worries about Leviathan, demons, monsters all using that against him, worries that you didn’t feel the same, worries that it was wrong for you both - all viable reasons for Sam keeping his trap shut. And there was no way he was going to let a demon of all things pry out his biggest secret.  
  
And as he watched her take another step toward you, running the knife through her fingers, Sam could feel his resolve faltering. The demon raised her hand, prepared to slice another mark into your skin.  
  
Sam broke.  
  
“ _Stop it_! I - I love her! Stop it now!” he shouted, thrashing harder.  
  
The demon smiled, “Is that so? Well then, you’re gonna love this, Sammy,” she purred.  
  
She raised her hand and knife to your neck, Sam locked eyes with you again, tears flowing from both of you as you saw the end.  
  
Without any other sound, someone fired a shot into the demon’s shoulder. Sam’s head jerked to see Dean Winchester standing in the doorway.   
  
“I’m the only one that calls him that,” he snarled.  
  
“What kind of idiot Winchester brings a gun to a demon fight?” she cackled.  
  
Dean smirked, “Oh sweetheart, I brought a much bigger weapon. Boss wants to see you - heard you’re gettin’ a pink slip.”  
  
the demon opened her mouth again, but Crowley filed in the room behind Dean. “Hello, love. Seems we have business to attend to.”

"B-But s-sir," the demon stuttered. "I was -"

"I'm sure you were doing something you thought was productive," Crowley said, a hint of rage in his voice. "But it's done now. I ordered a cease fire on the Winchesters and that _includes_ anyone associated with them." With a snap of his fingers, Crowley and the demon were gone.  
  
Sam nodded toward you, your head falling into your chest. Dean half ran, cutting the ropes away from your body and carrying you to where Sam was almost out of his.  
  
“____?” Sam called, curling you to his chest.   
  
“She’ll be okay, Sammy,” Dean assured. “Let’s get a hotel and get patched up, huh?”  
  
-  
  
Sam sat at the table in the back of the room, trying hard not to look at the bruises on his wrist. His eyes slipped, seeing the dark purple beginning to form from the ropes he’d struggled against. His eyes fluttered to the mirror on the wall opposite him, studying his face. He had a bruise developing on his right cheek, a deep cut on his hairline, and a busted lip, but other than those small injuries, he was okay. It had taken Dean no time to patch him up.  
  
But your injuries were a little worse. Sam had demanded Dean take you to a hospital - which Dean had. The doctors had put you under, set your wrist, sewed you up, and given you enough medicine to heal an elephant before listening to your half-high pleas of being sent home. Sam had been surprised the doctors had agreed.  
  
Reluctantly, Sam and Dean had driven you back to the cabin, where all of your things were. Sam had the courtesy to put you in a different bedroom, sitting at the table in the room while you slept, watching your peaceful body dream.  
  
The day after the hospital trip, you stirred in your bed. Sam was at your side instantly, smoothing your hair back from your face. “Hey,” Sam soothed, smiling.   
  
You gave him a weak smile, bruises standing out. “Heya, Sam.”  
  
“You were out a while.”  
  
You chuckled, “I guess so.”  
  
“Do you remember everything?” Sam asked. “The doctors weren’t sure if you would. They hit your head pretty hard.”  
  
Sam thought he saw a faint blush spread across your cheeks, “I - um, I remember it all.”  
  
Sam’s own cheeks heated up; he ran his hands through his long hair, giving a weak chuckle.  
  
“People say crazy things when a demon’s got a knife at someone’s neck, huh?” you weakly said, eyes looking down at your hands.  
  
Sam reached up, gently touching your cheek, “I meant every word, ____.”  
  
Your eyes jerked up, locking on Sam’s with a sigh, “All of it?”  
  
Sam nodded, “I’m sorry it took a freaking - um - demon kidnapping to make me see it, but yeah.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you breathed, flinching as you tried to move your wrist.  
  
Sam gave a half smile, “I was afraid you looked at me like you look at Dean.”  
  
You chuckled. “Like a douche bag? Not quite, Sam… I - um, I’ve been in love with you since I was a kid,” you admitted.  
  
Sam wanted to say something else, but nothing would come to mind. His hand gently tipped your face toward his, capturing it in a soft kiss. Your non-broken hand reached around to Sam’s hair, grabbing it and pulling him even closer to your own face. Your lips moved together, kissing each other passionately - it was too much and not enough at the same time.  
  
Sam was surprised to feel your tongue slink along his lips - asking permission. He granted it to you, easing his ass on the bed and leaning over you. Your hands pushed at his plaid shirt, pushing it off his shoulders as much as you could, his hands finishing throwing it off and across the room. His white v-neck came next, leaving his torso bare for your fingertips to trace softly.  
  
He reached for your shirt, blushing when he realized it was his Stanford sweatshirt. You blushed too, touching the hem. “It’s my favorite thing to wear.”  
  
Sam leaned in, capturing your lips with a soft kiss, “You look beautiful in it.”  
  
Your hands were on him again, arousal pumping through his veins and straight to his cock. You spread your legs, Sam easily fitting between them and wishing his jeans could instantly join the pile of clothes accumulating on the floor. You bucked your hips up to his, the fabric of his jeans rubbing over his hard cock - Sam groaned, leaning his head back.  
  
He pulled the sweatshirt over your head, eyes widening as he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath it. He inhaled, biting his lips as his hands traveled down your skin, touching the soft panties you were wearing - the only thing separating you and being bare before him.  
  
He reached down for his belt, smiling as your fingers fumbled to help him take it off and slide his jeans and boxers down his legs. He rubbed his length a few times, heart stopping as his free hand gripped your bare hip.   
  
Sam leaned down to kiss you again, mouth tracing yours. His hand left his length, tracing down your stomach and between your legs. He felt along your folds, groaning when he felt how wet and eager for him you were. He opened his eyes, “Do you want me?”  
  
You nodded, “I want you.”  
  
His eyes stayed on yours, “____, do you love me?”  
  
You nodded, breathless, “Yes, Sam.”  
  
“Say it again,” he groaned, leaning his head back.  
  
“I love you, Sam Winchester.”  
  
Without another word, Sam gently eased his hard cock inside you. He buried himself, oh, so slowly to the hilt, eyes trained on your face. You inhaled, clenching around him and making it that much harder for Sam to form coherent thoughts. He waited, tightening his hands in the sheets of the bed so he didn’t move and hurt you.   
  
When you finally opened your eyes to look at him, you brought your hands up to his shoulders, holding him. “Make love to me,” you whispered.  
  
Sam nodded, burying his face in your neck as he gently rolled his hips. He felt your legs tighten around his hips, pulling him back and forth into your center. He rocked, kissing your neck, your jaw, your lips, any part of you that he could touch. He made love to you, hands tracing every inch of your body as he tried so desperately to make up for lost time.   
  
Slowly but surely, Sam could feel the tightening of his body, the signal of his release. He groaned, throwing his head back before reaching down to kiss your lips. “You’re unlike any other woman,” he breathed, trying hard to get enough oxygen.  
  
“Sam,” you moaned, tightening your grip on him.  
  
“I’m gonna - I -” he groaned, thrusting sloppily inside you.  
  
You leaned up, whispering into his ear, “Come for me, baby.”  
  
Sam wanted to - oh God, he’d never wanted anything so badly in his life - but he wanted you to reach your peak as well. He reached down, mind foggy as he used one of his calloused fingers to touch your clit, body vibrating as yours tightened, orgasm coiling.  
  
It took everything Sam had to hold on, to keep from crying out in pain as you finally orgasmed around him. You called out his name, holding on to his shoulders as if you would fly away forever. Before your orgasm ended, Sam’s started, his body vibrating and clenching, his seed spilling deep inside you.  
  
It took several minutes for Sam to regain the strength to hoist himself up and roll over on the queen sized bed. He pulled your equally weak body to his, letting you lay on his chest as his heart tried to calm in his chest. He felt your lips on his skin, curling up into him.  
  
“I never want to leave you,” he whispered, kissing your temple.  
  
You chuckled, “You never have to, Sam.”


End file.
